


You little thief

by loveinadoorway



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m finding it surprisingly hard to write White Collar slash. Maybe it is because I love Peter/El so much… So, this is me trying to find a way.<br/>A collection of stories that started with the Suit & Uniform Kink Meme at LJ. This collection of stories is finished now. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epiphanies

**Title:** Epiphanies  
 **Paring/Characters:** Neal/Peter  
 **Genre:** pre-slash  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Word count:** 548  
 **Warnings:** Masturbation **  
Spoilers:** 3.08  
 **Disclaimers:** No harm intended, no profit made, yadda yadda  
 **Summary:**    
Written for the Multi-fandom Suit & Uniform Kink Meme over at [](http://tailoredshirt.livejournal.com/profile)[**tailoredshirt**](http://tailoredshirt.livejournal.com/)  ’s. Prompt by [](http://willow-fae-20.livejournal.com/profile)[**willow_fae_20**](http://willow-fae-20.livejournal.com/)  :   
Neal in Dress Whites, whoever sees him is turned on.  
 **Author’s Note:** I’m finding it surprisingly hard to write White Collar slash. Maybe it is because I love Peter/El so much… So, this is me trying to find a way. 

 

This was ludicrous.  
No, it was BEYOND ludicrous. He was a grown man. A married man. Not some college kid whose raging hormones rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

There was no reason to growl menacingly at Neal to get the fuck changed.  
There was even less reason to tell the man in low, spiteful tones and with multi-syllable words just how wrong it was for a no-good criminal without a shred of decency to sully the spirit of the dress whites he was wearing.

The look of confusion and pain in Neal’s eyes had cut straight through Peter, a sharp stab of guilt. He shouldn’t have lashed out at Neal like that.  
It wasn’t Caffrey’s fault that Peter had spent hours trying to find ways to hide his erection after catching his first glimpse of Neal in uniform.  
Wasn’t Caffrey’s fault, the way the whites made his eyes look even bluer than they were.  
Was nobody’s fault but Peter’s that he was hard, frustrated, embarrassed and feeling guilty right now.

For the first time, Peter wished he had an office with a real wall between him and the bull pen below.  
He was pacing for a few minutes, angry with himself for all the wrong things he wanted to do with the wrong man. Not that there was a right man. He was married, he loved his wife and no way would he hurt El like this.  
But this just wasn’t going to just go away, was it?

There was a long list of Neal moments.  
He could rattle off all the epiphanies he’d had over the years.  
First meeting, being handed the green sucker. Instant fascination, but pretending to feel professionally challenged by Neal and nothing else until that other moment. 

Arresting Caffrey. Grudging respect at the way the man reacted. Respect and a nagging sense of worry.  
Then there was the one when he had walked into the empty loft and found Neal sitting on the floor with that stupid empty wine bottle. It had thrown him completely that all that he had wanted to do then had been to comfort Neal. Keep him safe. 

Neal walking out of prison, hair longer than he usually wore it, tousled, making him look years younger than he actually was. End of the pretense that Neal didn’t do anything for Peter sexually. Desire flooding him as he gripped the steering wheel tight to keep himself from running his hands through Neal’s hair.

And now? Now Special Agent Peter Burke was leaning helplessly against the bathroom stall while he jerked himself off, biting hard into his other arm, trying to stifle the moans that were clawing their way up from the deepest depth of his chest. Or so it felt. When he came, he saw Neal in those stupid dress whites, turning his head, piercing Peter’s heart with his steady gaze.

This epiphany left Peter shattered.  
Because when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, after he had cleaned himself up and tried to regain his equilibrium sufficiently to leave, Peter knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that all those other moments added up to one thing and one thing only. 

Peter Burke loved Neal Caffrey.

And that epiphany in the end posed more questions than answers.

 


	2. To make a grown man wanna die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: To make a grown man wanna die  
> Paring/Characters: Neal/Peter  
> Genre: slash  
> Rating:NC-17  
> Word count: 1540  
> Warnings: sex  
> Spoilers: none  
> Disclaimers: No harm intended, no profit made, yadda yadda. Title and quote from Feargal Sharkey’s You Little Thief.  
> Summary: Written for the Multi-fandom Suit & Uniform Kink Meme over at [info]tailoredshirt ’s.  
> Prompt by [info]c8h7n3o2 : Peter and Neal are on some case that involves them chasing some criminal on foot. Some jerk!wad crashes into a fire hydrant causing a geyser of sorts. Everything and everyone gets completely drenched! Nypd takes the perp in while Peter insists they go to his place for a change and lunch.  
> Enabler!El is at work/out somewhere. Neal has spare clothes at the Burkes' residence. Neal's UST towards Peter drives him up the wall. Wet clothes, warm weather, he finally takes a chance.  
> Bonus if El comes home to piles of wet clothes and decides to let the boys play.  
> NOT P/E/N!! Sara doesn't exist. Neal is single. Lusting after Peter for (insert good amount of time.)

Author’s Note: I took a few liberties with the prompt. Not a warm day, no, cold, cold water on a freezing day is my way of doing this. I likes me my h/c and I don’t believe Neal/Peter is going to happen without angsting, pain and heartbreak.

 _You little thief  
You let me love you  
You saw me stumbling  
You watched me fall  
You left me broken  
Shattered and bleeding_

By the time they finally reached Peter’s house, Neal’s teeth were chattering and he felt like what was left of his soul may have sustained permanent damage by listening to Peter swearing a blue streak. He hadn’t known Burke had it in him, but he’d been at it for two blocks solid, calling the cab driver who had crashed into the hydrant a mere five feet away from them names Neal hadn’t ever heard before – and given that he’d served four years in prison, that was saying something.

His soaked three piece was clinging uncomfortably to his body and all the wet coat contributed at this point was more wet cloth plastered awkwardly to his frame. There was no warm spot left on his body and the seams of his suit were chafing his skin with every step he took. The de Vore was probably ruined. The coat? Votes were still out.

Peter pushed Neal inside, almost snarling at him to get the fuck up the stairs, into the guest room and in the shower. Neal wasn’t going to argue the point, not when he was sure he had never been this cold in his entire life. What may have been fun on a sizzling July afternoon in Manhattan was sheer hell on a windy November morning at eight a.m. – sheer hell and then some.

With a groan, Neal fought his way out of his suit jacket, then forced his stiff fingers to unbutton his shirt. He had been hit by a piece of metal, sharp like shrapnel and there was a deep, ugly, bleeding gash on his arm. He didn’t even know why he had felt the need to hide it from Peter, but with the way Burke had yelled at the injured cabbie, it had seemed like the thing to do.

It hurt, an insistent throbbing pain that served as a reminder how easily they could’ve both been killed. Had they been but a few paces further along in their pursuit of stockbroker-turned thief Harry Maitland or had the cab bounced off the hydrant in their direction, or… the possibilities were manifold and the outcome would’ve been dismal.

He heard the shower being turned on in the master suite. His fingers stilled suddenly on the third shirt button. Peter was under the shower, just a few feet away. Peter. Naked. Under the shower. Peter, running soapy hands over his body.  
Neal swallowed hard.

If asked, he’d have sworn it would be physically impossible for him to get hard, cold as he was. Nevertheless, what little circulation he had left, had rushed South at the speed of light.  
He had known for a long time that he was obsessed with Peter, wanted, needed, craved what he could never have. But at this moment, something snapped inside of him.

He tore the remaining buttons off his shirt and almost ripped the wet thing in half in his haste to get it off his back. He struggled out of his pants and boxers, peeled the socks off and walked over to the master bedroom. In the door to the bathroom, he paused. Through the steam and the water, he could barely make out Peter’s form.

There was still time to turn back, to just quietly walk back to the guest room and under the hot water as if nothing had happened. As if the years in which he had masturbated to various images of Peter didn’t matter and as if he didn’t just feel like he had been turned inside out, just because they had had a close shave and had been soaked to the skin in the middle of Manhattan.

And if he did turn back, it would mean that he was still salvageable, still a better man than most people would give him credit for. It would mean that he was not going to try to get a good man to commit adultery. It would mean that the old ‘thou shalt not covet’ was more than empty words to him. It would make Neal Caffrey an honest man, someone Peter could respect and call friend.

But Neal Caffrey was not that man. And he never would be. He was a thief, maybe not born, but surely bred and so he took the few remaining steps to the shower cabin in a desperate bid to steal something of real value this time. To steal Peter Burke. To steal a bit of happiness. To fill the emptiness inside of him.

He opened the glass door and stepped inside. Peter whirled around.

“Neal, what the fuck?”

Silently, Neal put his right hand on the back of Peter’s neck and pulled the other man down, capturing Peter’ lips with his own. He had fully expected to be pushed away, to be hit in the face, to have Peter standing over him, hurling abuse at his prone form.  
But Peter did something far, far worse.  
Peter opened his mouth with a small, desperate sound of need and kissed Neal back.

Neal pushed Peter back against the tiles and pinned him there. He didn’t know why, but he just needed to bring as much of his own body in contact with Peter’s as he possibly could. He could feel Peter’s cock springing to action against his body and it thrilled him. They were going to do this. Years of fantasizing were going to come to life.

Neal ran his hand over Peter’s side, savoring the way the other man’s muscles bunched under his touch. He lightly bit on Peter’s lower lip. Peter groaned. Neal fucked his tongue slowly deeper into Peter’s mouth, tasting, probing, teasing as he went. This was going to get messy.

He broke the kiss.  
Peter looked at him with wide, scared eyes. Neal shouldn’t have found that as arousing as he did. He deliberately ran his hands over Peter’s chest, nails scraping over his nipples, then he let his hands travel down to Peter’s dick. He took his time admiring the way Burke was built, before he curled his right hand around the thick length of Peter’s arousal.

Peter… Peter just let it happen. As if he had lost all ability to react, as if he were stunned by what his body was doing. Neal should have stopped, but he just couldn’t. Being the one in control added another element to his desire. Made everything even more intense. Neal started stroking Peter’s dick with slow, sure moves, twisting his wrist just a little to make it even better.

His other hand took Peter’s and placed it on his own cock. He stroked himself twice, three times to give Peter time to get with the program. The fourth stroke, Peter made all by himself. He had lost the wide-eyed look and was instead staring at Neal with such smoldering intensity Neal had to look away. To avoid the other man’s eyes, Neal opted to renew the assault on Peter’s mouth.

He could feel his orgasm pooling in his loins, could feel just how close he was. From the way Peter’s breath hitched and hips started stuttering, he knew Burke was as close to climax as he was. All it took was a few more certain, deep strokes and they both came, silently shouting into each other’s mouths.

Neal rested his forehead against Peter’s neck. Now it would begin, he knew. The guilt, the remonstrations… and the hatred. Peter would hate him for this, he knew. Neal had caught him off guard and had taken advantage of it. And Peter would never forgive Neal for it.

Peter, however, remained silent and still, except for his right arm, which he wrapped firmly around Neal.  
What now?

El unlocked the door and took Satchmo’s collar off. There were wet footprints from the door to the stairs. Two sets, going up. She followed. If someone would’ve asked her why she didn’t call out, she probably wouldn’t have been able to give a proper reason.

She looked into the guest room first, again without being able to say why. There were wet clothes scattered all over. She picked up the expensive woolen coat first. Neal’s, without a doubt, as were indubitably the ruined remains of the light grey de Vore. There was blood on the suit jacket and more blood on the ripped shirt.  
In the guest room, all was quiet.

She quietly walked over to the master bedroom. On the floor, Peter’s coat and his pinstripe suit. She could hear the shower, could hear muffled voices. Her husband’s and Neal’s, of course. As if there had been any doubt about that at all.  
El straightened up. As quietly as she had come, she walked back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

On autopilot, she made herself a cup of tea.

So it had happened. Peter and Neal had finally understood the true nature of their relationship.

Where did that leave her?

She gripped her cup tightly. This would be awkward, difficult and most likely very, very painful. If she wanted to still have a life with Peter in the end, she would need to find a way to accommodate his need for Neal.

So Elizabeth Burke sipped her tea and reassembled her heart and soul.


	3. You little dream, you little nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after the shower scene.

**Title:** You little dream, you little nightmare  
 **Paring/Characters:** Neal/Peter  
 **Genre:** slash, h/c  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Word count:** 1001  
 **Warnings:** angst **  
Spoilers:** none  
 **Disclaimers:** No harm intended, no profit made, yadda yadda. Title and quote from Feargal Sharkey’s You Little Thief.  
 **Summary:** What happens after the shower scene.  
Continuing from To make a grown man wanna die. I will try to make this okay in the end, but it’s going to take some… time.. I’m afraid.IF I can make it at all.

 

 _  
You little thief  
You little savage  
You little beauty  
You little whore    
_

Of course, he wasn’t bolting, not at all.  
It was perfectly normal to climb out of a window, dressed in much too big sweatpants and a sweater with sleeves so long it could double for a straightjacket. Nothing to it, really, perfectly normal behavior.

And Neal would have been hard pressed to say what made him do it. The look in Peter’s eyes when the post-orgasmic bliss wore off, or the single bark that made it perfectly clear that El had returned home? 

Or just the sight of his own face in the bathroom mirror, maybe. He hardly recognized himself in the reflection. Shame, guilt and something else that he didn’t even want to give a name to – no, he hardly recognized himself at all.

He ran, without even paying attention to where he was going, ran until he had a stitch in his side and could hardly breathe anymore. He leaned against a lamp post, drawing shuddering breaths, as sanity slowly returned. 

What now?

He didn’t know and the thought made him shiver uncontrollably. He always knew. Always had a plan and a backup plan and a fallback option on top of that. Now, he seemed to have run out of everything. This wasn’t something he could con his way out of.

He took a taxi back home, shook his head silently at June when she asked worriedly what had happened. He ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. In his room, he tore Peter’s clothes from his body, hastily dragged on a pair of chinos and a sweater, then went rummaging through the kitchen drawers for a pair of scissors.

He put his foot on a chair and without a moment’s hesitation cut through the anklet.

Mentally counting the seconds since he’d cut the anklet, he quickly grabbed his getaway bag from its hiding place and a warm jacket from the closet, then he ran down the stairs quickly. He had actually been kidding himself that he would never, ever need the bag anymore. He had been this close to actually unpacking it, burning the false IDs and opening a bank account for the cash. He had been kidding himself he could have a real life.

June was still standing in the hall. Her eyes were filled with sorrow, but she nodded at him slowly.

“I knew. It was written all over your face just now. I don’t know what happened, Neal, but please keep yourself safe.”

He forced a smile, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be alright, but when she shook her head almost angrily, he knew he had failed.

“I’ll find a way of contacting you, June, okay?”

He hesitated, wanting to say so much more, wanting to thank her, tell her how much she meant to him, but the words just wouldn’t come. So in the end, he just hugged her briefly and walked out of the door without looking back. 

Two minutes since he had cut the anklet and counting. He ducked into a crowd of people walking towards the Park and just kept going. The sound of sirens in the distance drove him deeper into the crowd of laughing college students on their way to a flash mob. When he had put enough distance between himself and June’s house, he ducked into a path veering left.

He kept moving until nightfall, laying false trails, setting up distractions. As it got dark, he found himself drawn inexorably towards a certain house. He stood on the other side of the road, watching El as she was pacing. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t exactly surprising. Peter would be busy chasing him by now, Neal knew.

El looked drawn and worried. She stopped her pacing only to pat Satchmo every now and again. Suddenly, she turned sharply towards the window, as if she was sensing his scrutiny. He withdrew deeper into the shadows and after a few heart-wrenching moments, El turned away from the window and resumed her restless vigil.

When he couldn’t keep himself upright anymore, he checked into a dingy hotel under a false name, paying cash. He shouldn’t be here, he should be at least a thousand miles away from New York at this point.  
He sat on the bed, grimacing at the horrid, flaking wallpaper and proceeded to drink himself into a coma with a quart of Jack that he had bought some time during the afternoon, he didn’t even remember where and when exactly.

If he were a better man, he’d have left well enough alone. He shouldn’t have acted on his desire. He shouldn’t have turned Peter, staunchly honest, scrupulously upright Peter, into an adulterer.  
And if he were a better man, he’d probably put himself out of misery then and there. A neat, quick solution to all the problems he was causing.  
That would be the ultimate escape, wouldn’t it? The one where even Peter wouldn’t be able to catch him anymore. 

God, Peter.  
Neal’s head was flooded with pictures of Peter. Frowning, smirking, looking angry, Peter drinking his coffee out of the mug El had given him. Peter being annoyed with Neal, Peter standing up for Neal, Peter being companionable. Peter looking at Neal with helpless and unwanted desire in his eyes. Peter, a little later, looking desperate and ready to hurl.

Half the whiskey gone, Neal suddenly understood. He hurled the bottle against the wall and buried his face in his hands.  
While he may have understood his desire for Peter in sufficient clarity after years of long nights with nothing better to think of and do, he had not seen the other thing sneaking up on him, nor was he prepared for it.

“A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave. Ghandi,” he slurred in a desperately unfunny parody of Mozzie, as his world came tumbling down. 

What now?

He curled up on the bed and cried until he fell asleep.

 


	4. You watched me fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: You watched me fall  
> Paring/Characters: Neal/Peter  
> Genre: slash, h/c  
> Rating: R  
> Word count: 788  
> Warnings: angst  
> Spoilers: none  
> Disclaimers: No harm intended, no profit made, yadda yadda. Title and quote from Feargal Sharkey’s You Little Thief.  
> Summary: What happens after the shower scene.  
> Continuing from To make a grown man wanna die and You little dream, you little nightmare. I will try to make this okay in the end, but it’s going to take some… time.. I’m afraid.

_You've taken everything  
I had to believe in  
Now there's nothing  
To believe in at all_

  
“I can’t believe he did that,” Peter whispered, desperately running his hands over his eyes. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, El?”

She put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. ‘Let him run’ was the answer she should give Peter, but that would mean Peter would have to at least bend, maybe even break the law. Which was not exactly how Peter worked.

That seemed to be the story between those two, didn’t it? That the one didn’t work one way and the other didn’t work in the opposite way most of the time… Fire and water. Air and earth. Neal and Peter. Dancing around each other since the day Peter got the case. It was a complicated dance, not easy to understand for outsiders.

She was very certain Neal would come back. There was only one logical explanation for him bolting that way and that was that he discovered how deep his feelings for Peter really ran. Stupid, stupid boy inside a man’s body. No, not stupid. Scared, guarded, walled in, emotionally damaged, incapable of telling the truth from the lies anymore, maybe. But not stupid.  
She took a deep breath.

“Peter, can you give Neal some time?”

“What are you saying El? That I should tell the Marshalls some cock and bull story and just sit on this?”

“That is EXACTLY what I am saying, Peter. Neal will be back. I know it.”

“How can you be sure of that? Hell, I don’t even know why he ran like that!”

“Don’t you, Peter?”

Peter groaned. Of course he knew. He had seen the look on Neal’s face in the shower. Had seen how much his own panic had affected the other man. Hadn’t been able to say or do anything, had let Neal turn and run out of the shower. Had not followed him. It was his fault Neal had run and so he would have to make sure it would be alright, of sorts.

He picked up his phone and dialed the Marshalls. He told them the mother of all cock and bull stories, about some undercover assignment where Neal had to cut his anklet spontaneously to avoid compromising his cover. They bought the entire thing; all Peter would have to do was confirm twice a day that he was still in contact with Neal.

He hadn’t even realized just how tense he had been, until he hung up. He forced his muscles to relax and tried to push the panic to the back of his mind. Panic wasn’t going to help, panic wasn’t going to bring Neal back. Peter wished he had El’s conviction that the miscreant would be back of his own accord.

And if, no WHEN, Peter corrected himself sternly, WHEN Neal came back, what then? There still would be more questions than answers and he just didn’t know how to even begin to answer them. It puzzled him how El could be so calm and how apparently she understood so much better what he was still grappling with.

“El. I don’t… How do we…?”

Peter broke off. How DID one ask one’s wife about what to do when one is in love with a second person at the same time? Mind you, he loved his wife as much as he had on the day they married. He just loved Neal, too. As fervently.

El looked at him for a long time. It was ridiculous how easy it was to read Peter. The love, the fear, the uncertainty, the moral issues, all there for the world to see. How Peter ever managed to browbeat someone into confessing, El would never understand.

 “Do we have to do this now, Peter? How about we handle one thing at a time. Right now, Neal needs to come back first. Anything else will follow from there. I don’t have an answer for you right now. It’s complicated.”

Peter looked at her, trying to gauge if ‘complicated’ somehow stood for ‘I’m going to leave you because I can’t handle this’, but all he could see was El’s own uncertainty. Didn’t really help. Didn’t answer the question that was burning a blazing trail through his soul.  
What now?

But that question needed to wait, obviously. It wasn’t going to get solved with Neal still MIA. It wasn’t going to get solved between Peter and El, either, while Peter was still too upset to think straight. All he could do right now was trust El and believe that it WOULD get solved in the end. And hopefully without tearing them all to pieces.

“Okay,” Peter said quietly, then added “Hon,” and was relieved to see El smiling.

“We’ll find a way, hon,” she said, still smiling.


	5. Does it make you uneasy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Does it make you uneasy?  
> Paring/Characters: Neal/Peter; Elizabeth/Peter  
> Genre: slash, h/c  
> Rating: R  
> Word count: 2182  
> Warnings: angst  
> Spoilers: none  
> Disclaimers: No harm intended, no profit made, yadda yadda. Title and quote from Feargal Sharkey’s You Little Thief.  
> Summary: What happens when two people realize they’re in love, only there’s three people, really and what do you do then?  
> Continuing from Epiphanies, To make a grown man wanna die, You little dream, you little nightmare and You watched me fall. This is the end, beautiful friend. Don’t be afraid. I promised I would make it okay.

_You little dream  
You little nightmare  
You little nothing  
You little girl _

  
Neal was standing in front of the house in the pouring rain.  
Water was running in thick, cold rivulets from his hair, over his face and down his throat into his already soaking wet collar. He was watching the first floor of the house, intently, as if he was willing the lights to be turned on and the familiar silhouette to appear behind the curtains.  
Unlikely, though, at three in the morning.

  
Peter would be sleeping next to Elizabeth and Satchmo would have abandoned his proper, designated, probably FBI approved and government sanctioned doggy resting place to sleep at the foot of the bed, one paw resting on Peter’s ankle. How he knew this? He had broken into the Burke residence at night on more than just one occasion, of course.

  
At first, he had been there to look for clues as to how much Peter knew about his… other… activities and then, gradually, that had become a mere pretext so he could stand in the bedroom door, a silent, watchful shadow who noted every little detail in the light of the street lamp that filtered through the white curtains.

  
So what if his eyes were fixed on Peter, always Peter, never El. So what if his hands sometimes strayed South while he watched Peter in his sleep. So what if some small sound the man made, a moan or a sigh, made him just a little harder. So what if he eventually went home and let his imagination and his desire run wild in the still of the night?

  
As long as he had been able to convince himself that it was purely sexual, some odd, misguided desire that meant nothing at all, Neal had been fine. As long as he had conned himself into believing that it was of no consequence and hence perfectly safe, he had indulged himself without any hesitation whatsoever.

  
Now all that had changed and Neal Caffrey, usually so immaculately groomed, was standing soaking wet and disheveled in front of the Burke’s house, unshaven and still half drunk. He had awoken, covered in a cold sweat, at 2 a.m., disoriented and still reeling from discovering it had all been a lie. He loved Peter. He shouldn’t, but he did.

  
Neal didn’t know what to do with this… alien feeling. He didn’t understand what had really happened between them in the shower. Didn’t know if Peter had been merely shocked, or truly disgusted, as Neal feared.  
And worst of all, he didn’t know what to do about El in all this.

  
Elizabeth, whom he adored and cared about and who under no circumstances must be hurt. El, who had been his friend, who had welcomed him into their house and their life. El, whom Peter loved unreservedly, that much Neal was certain about. That would have been reason alone to protect her with all he had, but he truly loved the woman. Like one loved one’s best friend, of course.

  
His teeth had started chattering and he was leaning against a lamp post, completely exhausted, eyes closed, silently turning the situation around over and over in his head, but no easy fix, no simple solution was forthcoming. No matter how he turned it, he wouldn’t be able to con his way out of this one. He gripped the cold metal tightly, trying not to give in to the despair again that had gripped him a few hours earlier in his terrible hotel room.

  
When a hand lightly touched his stubbly cheek, he jumped.

  
“Neal, come on inside. You’re drenched and you’ll catch your death out here,” El said softly, hoping Neal wouldn’t bolt.

  
Neal opened his eyes reluctantly.  
It was clear when their eyes met that there would be no more running now, not from El. He swallowed, nodded and followed her into the house. She had wrapped herself in Peter’s coat, it seemed and her slippers were soaking wet. She walked into the kitchen, expecting Neal to follow her.

  
“Tea,” she said with conviction. “And you need to get out of those wet clothes, Neal. You know where the bathroom is, don’t you?”

  
The second these words left her mouth, El wished she could just recall them. Neal had grown even more pale than he already had been and once more looked ready to run. She shook her head forcefully and smiled at him.

  
“That wasn’t what I wanted to say at all. Go, take a hot shower and put on something nice and dry, will you? By the time you’re finished, the tea will be ready.”

  
He walked up the stairs and into the guest bedroom’s bathroom on autopilot, trying to shake the sense of déjà vu, trying to block out the voices that where whispering to him about running, hiding and protecting himself. None of these were viable options at this point anymore, anyhow.

  
When the hot water had more or less warmed him up, he quickly dried himself off and slipped into a simple terrycloth robe he found on the peg behind the door. He quietly made his way down the stairs again and found himself standing rather helplessly in the kitchen again. It was empty.

  
El called him softly from the living room. She was sitting on the sofa, mug of tea in her hand. The second mug was placed so that Neal sat down next to her. He stiffened slightly as El lightly put her hand on the small of his back.

  
“Drink your tea, Neal. Then we talk.”

  
They sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes. El never took her hand away from Neal’s back. After a short while, she started rubbing small, calming circles. Weirdly enough, it worked. Neal’s frayed nerves seemed to settle and he opened his mouth to speak.  
El silenced him with a wave of her hand.

  
“Let me start, Neal. It will be easier this way, trust me.”

  
He mutely nodded his consent.

  
“I don’t want Peter here right now, because that would unnecessarily complicate things. I want you and me to come to an agreement, which we then can present to Peter as a viable solution to our situation. One that we both are okay with, so he knows right away there are no… shall we say… moral or emotional issues.”

  
“You sound like you’ve given this some thought,” Neal said, a slight note of amusement creeping into his voice. El, organized and brilliant as ever. El, who was too sweet for words, yet could be so incredibly ruthless, if needs be.

  
“What choice did I have, when the two of you weren’t thinking at all? Not even your downstairs brains seemed to work properly,” El said, chuckling as Neal’s face went crimson. “One of us HAD to make a plan, work something out.”

  
Neal nodded and took another sip of tea to mask his acute embarrassment. El was right, of course. The last day was … well, it seemed like his brain kind of short-circuited and the misfiring neurons caused some strange backlash in his dick as well. No, neither “brain” had been working properly. The analytical side of him had failed to analyze and come up with some pointers as to what was going on and his dick had gone off half cocked (yeah, right) and that had caused additional mayhem.

  
“Are you with me, Caffrey?” El said in an almost perfect imitation of Peter’s tone when he suspected Neal’s thoughts were elsewhere. He laughed and nodded.

  
“Good. Now, I want to make one thing perfectly, absolutely, crystal clear: I don’t want a threesome. Handsome as you are and much as I love you, Neal, I don’t love you that way and on top of that, I also think that it would be a recipe for disaster.”

  
“Agreed. Completely. You are my friend. I don’t sleep with friends. Plus, threesomes aren’t as much fun as everyone seems to think. The carpet burn alone is enough to turn one off,” Neal said, with a slightly wistful note in his voice as he remembered a certain month in Venice.

  
El looked at Neal incredulously. Then she blinked and laughed, “I really don’t know why I was surprised. I should have KNOWN.”

  
It took them both a while to compose themselves after that. Neal was starting to hope that they would indeed somehow make this alright. If anyone could find a way, El could.

  
“I think with a few simple rules, we could have a perfectly happy relationship, me and Peter and you and Peter.”

  
El produced a notebook and a pen and they spent the next two hours coming up with, discarding and amending what would from then on be affectionately known as The Rules Of Engagement. When they were both happy with the outcome, Neal started to create a beautiful document, lightly modeled on the Bill of Rights, starting with “Rule number 1 – Saturday mornings belong to El and Sunday afternoons belong to Neal”.

  
“Where will we hang this?” Neal asked when he was almost finished.

  
“The bedroom, I’d say. And make a copy for your place, too. Just to be on the safe side,” El replied with a slight smirk.

  
It was such fun to watch Neal work, El thought. He was so concentrated on his task that the tip of his tongue was protruding ever so slightly from his lips. He looked younger than he actually was and so eager and focused, it was just… adorable. In a very, very safe way – at least for her.  She had meant it when she said that she didn’t love Neal that way, though love him she certainly did. Maybe like a younger brother or a wayward cousin or something like that.

  
Around 7 a.m., Peter came bounding down the stairs. At the sight of Neal on their sofa, he froze.

  
“How long…? What the…?”

  
“Good morning, Peter. Neal has dropped by, as you can see.  I’ll leave you two and make breakfast now. Oh – and by the way, Peter, we already laid down the rules for our… future relationship. Neal, kindly fill Peter in while I see to food and coffee. Lots of coffee, I think!”  
With that, El left the room.

  
Peter was standing stock still, staring at Neal as if he were sure the other man was merely a figment of his imagination. Neal looked back at Peter, uncertainty plain on his face.

  
“Neal… I… You…”

  
“I shouldn’t have run, Peter. I should’ve stayed like a man and talked things over with you. I was scared,” Neal said very quickly before his courage could fail him again. “I was in a fucking panic, to tell the truth.”

  
Peter took the remaining few steps that separated them in long strides, grabbed Neal and pulled him up into a bruising embrace. He was making some choked sounds, but still just couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. So he just held on for dear life.

  
“It’s okay, Peter,” Neal gasped – Peter had his arms clamped around Neal like a steel vise and he was finding it hard to force enough air into his lungs to speak. “I understand. It’s okay now, I promise. Won’t run again. Got everything talked over with El. We’re all good here, oaky? Now please let go of me before I faint from lack of oxygen. Please?”

  
Peter let go of Neal as suddenly as he had grabbed hold of him before. He was grinning wildly, still going “I…”, “you…” and “Neal…” repeatedly.  
Neal grinned back at him. Peter’s visible relief and happiness was giving Neal the kind of warm and fuzzy feelings he had previously thought himself incapable of.

  
When El came in with their breakfast, Neal and Peter were sitting on the sofa together, arms around each other.  She smiled at the expression on their faces. Yes, it looked like everything was going to be alright now.

  
After breakfast, Peter cocked an eyebrow at El and asked with a slightly sheepish expression, blushing to the tips of his ears: “Can I go upstairs with Neal now?”

  
“Rule number 3, Peter. You can go see Neal home and do whatever you want to at his place, but here, it’s only you and me in the bedroom. Neal can come over any time, but this is my home and my bed and that’s how it will remain.”

  
“Oh.” Peter blushed even harder, extremely embarrassed that he hadn’t seen that one coming in the first place. What had he been thinking? “Okay. But Neal should put some decent clothes on before we go. Don’t think he should wander around in a terrycloth bathrobe. Especially not when it’s yours, darling, all fluffy and pink.”

  
Neal stretched lazily, revealing a tantalizing stretch of thigh. He smiled a little wolfishly at Peter and said: “Do we need to put that in the rules? Rule number 24 – Neal Caffrey is not permitted to walk around Manhattan in fluffy, pink robes.”

  
Their joined laughter filled the living room with warmth. It felt like a new beginning – and an auspicious one at that.


End file.
